


A New Home

by Sinclaironfire



Series: Duck Feels [1]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Fluff, He's good with a lot of things but not children, It's been three weeks man, Scrooge is a bit stupid, Scrooge is a good person, Scrooge takes a while to realize it, Webby is a darling, Webby moves into the manor, and that's what counts, he tries though, he's good with kids, just some fluff, protect Webby at all costs, she's so precious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 14:33:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12037917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinclaironfire/pseuds/Sinclaironfire
Summary: Webby moves into the manor. Scrooge is clueless.





	A New Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for everythingducktales@tumblr because hurricanes suck and all I can do is write fanfiction. So when all you’ve got is a hammer, everything else becomes a nail.

Scrooge McDuck was many things; he was an ace adventurer, a brilliant businessman, a competent C.E.O., and the most dashing daredevil duck in Duckburg. If fate threw him a problem, he would handle it come what may. There’s wasn’t anything he couldn’t do, no problem he couldn’t solve! Except for the one that was currently puzzling him.

For the past several weeks, a ghost had invaded his manor house. It started innocently enough as most hauntings do. First, it was his things going “missing”. Then, it was ectoplasm everywhere. It was everywhere! On his cane, his glasses…no surface of his manor house was safe from the ectoplasm spewing ghost.  And then, finally, it was the giggling. Scrooge McDuck had a giggling ghost in his home. The soft-light hearted laughter flitted through the extensive property and just when he thought he was on the verge of cornering the ghostly giggles, the laughter would suddenly disappear.

The ghost was practically harmless as ghosts came. However, Scrooge had been around enough ghosts to know that because they appeared to be friendly did not necessarily mean that they would stay that way forever. Besides, it made no sense to have a freeloader, dead or not, on his property. The ghost would have to go. And so, one spring morning, Scrooge set out to do just that. Armed with talismans and charms, Scrooge scoured his massive property for the spirit that haunted his home.

He checked the den, his office, his bedroom. All of his regular haunts were free from any ghostly interference. Now that he was actively looking for it, he couldn’t find a trace of the spirit anywhere.

“So the little devil thinks it can hide from me, eh? Ha! It’ll have to do better than that to hide from Scrooge McDuck!”

His search for the phantom of the manor took up his morning, his afternoon, and the rest of his night as he diligently searched the spacious grounds for whatever was haunting his home. It wasn’t until morning that Scrooge, dead tired, finally took a break. He rested in the kitchen, only to grab an apple and then retire to his bedroom, but no sooner had he entered the kitchen that he heard the undeniable sound of giggling. It was coming from the dining room. Scrooge barged into the dining room without a moment’s hesitation.

His tired-eyes scanned the room, ready to fight the ghost. And that’s when he saw her. A small child, no older than four, was eating cereal at the dining room table. The small child, a girl, judging by the pink clips in her hair and pale pink skirt looked up and laughed. It took a second for Scrooge’s weary mind to comprehend what was in front of him. It wasn’t a ghost but a child.

“Beakely!” he shouted. “Why’s there a wee baby on the table?”

Scrooge’s bellowing received no reply. He couldn’t understand it. Beakely always responded to his bellows and calls.

“BEAKELY! WHERE IN BLAZES ARE YOU! I need-“

The small child started to whimper. Scrooge, wide-eyed, stopped shouting as the toddler’s whimpers quickly grew louder. In seconds, her whimpers became full blown screeches that would have made a banshee proud. Scrooge raced over to her and picked her as gently as if she was a ticking bomb.  

“Oh don’t cry, please don’t cry,” he bounced her up and down. “I was being a silly duck, wasn’t I? I was a silly-willy duck. Please don’t cry.” Comforting children was not his forte. Diving into adventure, risking life and limb for lost treasure that was where he excelled but child rearing was a different adventure altogether. The little girl sniffled and whimpered. Just as Scrooge thought he had successfully calmed her down, she wriggled out of his grasp and dove under the table.

“Eh, now why you’re doing that?” Scrooge bent down to see her. She crawled away. Scrooge frowned. “Lass, come on out. I promise I won’t yell.”

“...not supposed to talk…” she mumbled.

“Not talk?”

“To strangers…” The little girl mumbled.

If there was one thing he learned from his adventures, it was that you had to meet people on their level. And in this case, it was underneath the table. Scrooge crawled under and stuck out his hand to the girl. “Ah, well then, the name’s Scrooge McDuck and you are miss?”

“Webbigail but you can call me Webby if you want to,” she answered in a still small voice.

“It’s nice to meet you, Webby. Where are your parents?”

Webby started to tear up again but to her credit, she did not screech or scream. She simply muttered, “They’re not here,” and went absolutely quiet to Scrooge’s dismay.

“Oh…I see.”

Webby sniffled and wiped her eyes with her sweater’s sleeve. Scrooge fiddled with his glasses. “Lass, Webby, why don’t we get out from this table, eh? What do you say?” His back was starting to cramp. Hiding underneath the table was fine when you were a child but for an adult, it was a bit harder.

“And then what?” she asked expectantly.

“And then what, what?”

“What next?”

Scrooge sighed and rubbed the back of his head. He hadn’t, admittedly, thought that far ahead. He just wanted to get out from his own table. “What do you want to do next?”

“Granny reads me a story after breakfast,” she sniffled. “Can you read me a story?”

He faltered for a brief moment but gave in. “Sure.”

Hand in hand, Scrooge and Webby left the underside of the table. “Stay close, Webby. My home is very big and I don’t want you getting lost.”

“That’s okay. I know where the rooms are,” she said brightly. “Granny taught me everything! Like the library is on the first floor and your room is on the second floor but I’m not old enough to go into the attic yet.”

“Who’s your granny?” Scrooge tried to ask but Webby was instantly distracted by the large library and the chance to have a new storyteller instead of her granny.

“I want this one!” she grabbed a heavy book about twice her size. On the cover was a photo of a man being sacrificed to a Mayan deity. Scrooge plucked the book out of her hands. “How about no?”

None of the stories in his personal library were child-friendly. Hauntings and beheadings, good sailors and adventurers losing their lives to ancient curses were not something that any child wanted to hear. Webby, however, was proving to be the exception. Every book she got her small hands on was filled with gruesome deaths and torture. Each story was worse than the last.

“Why don’t I tell you a story instead?” he rested in his armchair. He could clean up on of his old adventures. Nothing too extreme, something child appropriate.

“Like what?”

Scrooge inwardly grimaced. He couldn’t tell her about the Klondike. Nothing about Goldie was family-friendly. So that cut out most of his adventures or the good ones at least.

“Um…oh! There was the time me nephew Donald and I were traveling the Amazon in search of lost treasure!”

That was a good story. There was hardly any bloodshed, no body died, and only a few people were maimed. It was perfect! Webby, excited by the prospect of lost treasure, clambered onto his lap. She stared in awe of him.

“What happened?”

“There we were, me and Donald sailing down the Amazon River. The Rapids were ferocious! They were strong enough to snap a boat in half. But Donald knew the river. Without any trouble, he guided our tiny boat to safe passage and-“

“How’s he such a good sailor?” Webby asked.

“Because he’s the best,” Scrooge said proudly. “And he’s my nephew.”

“We landed in a swamp. Not the best place to bunker down for the night but in the Amazon, marshy swamp land is practically the Ritz! Donald and I thought we were safe for the night but then came the snakes.”

The story of lost Amazon treasure turned into the time Scrooge and Donald were nearly killed by an ancient water god, followed by the time they both nearly lost their lives to English ghost who in life died fighting the McDucks. Webby listened with rapt attention. Somewhere between the monsters and glamorous treasure, they both fell asleep.

“Mr. McDuck,” a warm and familiar voice whispered to him as someone gently shook him awake.

“Beakely!” he squawked indignantly.

Mrs. Beakely shushed him and pointed downward. In his lap, Webby was fast asleep.

 “I see you’ve met my granddaughter,” Mrs. Beakely whispered as she picked Webby up.

“Aye, I have. Why didn’t you tell me you had a granddaughter?”

Mrs. Beakely stared at her employer and said, “I did tell you. She’s been living here for the past three weeks. I asked you to watch her today? Didn’t you read the note I left for you in your bedroom?”

Scrooge sheepishly smiled. “I might’ve been a bit preoccupied…”

“Well thank you anyway for watching her.”

Webby yawned in her grandmother’s arms. “Goodbye, Mr. Scrooge…”

“Goodbye, Webby darling.”

 


End file.
